


Silver-Red Safety

by Yustiel



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Genderbent Percival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 01:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yustiel/pseuds/Yustiel
Summary: "She comes here anyways, right? You know she likes getting coffee already, so there’s no issue.”“Right....Yeah, you’re right, Lancey! That’s a great suggestion,” It was perhaps the second-worst suggestion Lancelot had ever given him.   "I’ll ask her to get coffee sometimes, thanks!”





	Silver-Red Safety

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @pastamachine_ on twitter for the 2018 GBF Secret Santa. To be honest, I've never written any of the dragon knights before, I don't own Vane, and I've never made a coffeeshop au either, so this was all new ground for me. Here's hoping it's halfway decent.

She was beautiful. Extremely beautiful. 

That was the first thought that crossed Vane’s mind as he looked at her. The crimson point of her lipstick, the scarlet of her jacket, the auburn tips of her hair; everything about her seemed ruby-red and redolent—like a model, or celebrity, or even royalty— 

“How much was that again?” Her voice broke through his train of thought. 

 “Uh—for the peppermint mocha?” 

“The gingerbread.” 

“Right, yeah, of course.”  _Idiot, idiot!_ Was he staring? Did she notice? “That’ll be five forty-eight.”  

“On second thought, get me a peppermint bark as well.” 

“Of course. That brings your total up to.... eight dollars.”  

“Yeah, okay.” Her fingernails were tipped in red nail polish. “Is there anyone else here?”  

“Huh? Working, you mean? No, right now it’s just me.” She was silent after that—her long eyelashes downcast as she dug through her wallet, framing her face—he was staring again, wasn’t he. 

Right, perhaps he should be focusing on making this drink instead. No, wait, he should  _definitely_ be focusing on this drink instead. Well, duh, it’s what she ordered. I mean, what else would he focus on— 

“A-hem,” her voice shocked him out of his milk-pouring focus. “My card?”  

“OH! Yeah, sorry!” He left it in the register! Great, great, this was just great! How could it get any worse? 

“One gingerbread mocha for—” he never caught her name either, he’d realized. Too distracted with her…. Everything else. Shit. It started with P, right? Something like that? “—Persephone?”  

“That’s mine.” Oh good, he got it right, then? I mean, she didn’t correct him, at least. 

“Right, have a great rest of your day!” She didn’t deign to reply in kind either—and with just a nod, she was gone, leaving the café much duller in her wake. 

 

* * *

 

He didn’t  _mean_ to keep thinking about her—but something about her was vaguely familiar; alluring, even. She was brighter than the 3:00 P.M. sunsets they were suffering from all winter, and carried herself so differently from the average Feendrache citizen; she seemed so bright that it was hard to look away—eye-catching in all those brilliant hues.  

“Well, she must be quite the girl to get you so worked up,” Lancelot chuckled from somewhere behind the counter. 

“Oh, you should’ve seen her, Lancey! She was so,” he made a vague gesture with his hands. “Y’know?”  

“I think I get the gist of it.” 

“And she was so...So...” 

“Beautiful?” 

“Yeah! How’d you know?” 

“You’ve mentioned something to that effect,” he spoke dryly, not even bothering to face Vane’s direction. 

“But really, she was something else. All elegant and stuff—and hair like fire—you'd never forget it!” 

“Red hair, huh?” At that, Lancelot popped his head from behind the counter. “Hm. You should point her out to me if she comes in again.” 

“You have a thing for redheads?” 

“Nah, she just sounds familiar.” 

“I don’t even know if she’ll come back, man,” 

“Who could resist your world famous cooking?”  

“Aw, you know we buy the peppermint bark from the confectioner’s! It’s not even made in house!” 

“Well, she doesn’t know that.” Peppermint bark wasn’t even that special, though. It was just mostly...Chocolate and mint, anyways. “Don’t worry about it, Vane. Or do you not have faith in our café?”  

“You’re right, you’re right. I should just have faith in our drinks.”  

“Don’t forget our top-tier service.” 

Oh god. His service. He buried his face in his hands. 

“Vane? Vane! What’s wrong? Vane!”  

 

* * *

 

He would’ve stopped to help anyways. Definitely. If he saw anyone struggling, he stopped by, no questions asked. So it  _wasn’t_ because this was the same woman he saw at the café. I mean, it didn’t hurt that it was, but he’d help anyways! Right? He wouldn’t just let her struggle with carrying a whole TV up all those flights by herself. And he was off work now, anyways, just on his way home. Would it be creepy to...? 

Swallowing hard, Vane forced his voice to be as normal as possible before asking. “You need any help with that?”  

“Implying I can’t do it on my own?”  

“No, no! Of course not! I was just wondering....” He trailed off sheepishly as she turned around to confront him.  

“Oh. You’re the one from the café,” with one eyebrow raised impetuously.  

“Yeah, that’s me! I was just passing by, so...” God, that sounded awkward even to himself. “And you looked like you could use it?” 

It looked like she was going to say no—sizing him up, with just the slightest scowl on her face, but then— “Yeah, I could use it.”  

“Really?” 

“What, think I’m too proud to ask for help when I need it?” Honestly, he’d only seen her once before, but she seemed entirely the type to do so. “Don’t just stare at me like that. Help me grab a corner.”  

It was thirteen flights of stairs, to be precise. The elevator was way too small to accommodate the box the TV came in. The errand ended up being more of a thirty-minute ordeal before they made it to her floor. 

“Hey,” he paused, setting the box down. “I, uh, never caught your name?”  

“You weren’t just saying Persephone to be cute?” She asked. Perhaps he should’ve said yes. Would she like that? “It’s Percival.”  

“Percival! I’ll remember that. Mine’s Vane, by the way,” he added, way more rapid than he would’ve liked.  

“I know. You wear a nametag.” Oh. That is embarrassing. “But thanks for the help.”  

“It’s nothing! I’m glad to be of service.” God, did he always sound so chipper? Especially in the mornings? “This is a lot of stuff to carry, are you new to the area?”  

“I’ve been here before,” she said, and left it at that. The quiet type, then? Or did she just find him obnoxious? Oh god. She totally found him obnoxious. “I’m just back on business.” 

“Oh? What do you do?”  

“Politics,” and lapsed back into silence.  

“...Well, I hope to see you at the café sometime!”  

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back,” she said, practically waving him off. “You don’t need to shill.” Aw Christ, she thought he was shilling! 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to—” wait, that was arguably worse to say. Why would he want to dissuade a customer from visiting? 

“Eager to please, aren’t you?” Now literally waving him off, “Don’t worry about it. And thank you for the help.”  

“Yeah! My pleasure! I promise I won’t mess up your name this time.”  

That brought a smile to her face, at least. “Do you now? I guess we’ll see.”  

 

* * *

 

He was more than relieved to see her impatient, lips pursed, at the end of the counter once again. More relieved than he should ever be to see an irate customer.  

“A gingerbread mocha, please,” she spoke before he could even greet her.  “And is Lancelot in?” 

“What, Lancey?”  

And with just a spot of disgust, “‘ _Lancey_ _?’”_  

“Yeah, I’ve always called him Lancey.” 

Under her breath, “ _Christ.”_  And louder, “Is he in right now?”  

“Uhhh, yeah, let me get him for you.” She knew Lancelot? How? Yeah, Lancey was popular with women, but he never expressed interest in any before—and they spent most of their time together—hell, they  _roomed_ together! If there was any girl in his life, he’d be the first to know about it! So how the hell did she know him? “Lancey, there’s someone asking for you.”  

“Is it your mystery frien—Percival?!”  

“Lancelot,” she seemed—well, less than pleased to see him.  

“You’re back? It’s been years!” 

“So it has.”  

“What brings you back?” He seemed entirely unaffected by her chilly demeanor, somehow. Which was remarkable, because she seemed, well—borderline hostile would be the best way to put it.  

“You know. Business. I’m just here for a while because my vassals insist on it.” 

“Well, regardless, it’s good to see you again. Have I introduced you to Vane yet?” 

“We’ve met.” And she sounded unexcited there as well. Great.  

“She roomed with me during college,” Lancelot added in as explanation. If there was any way to signal  _why didn’t you tell me you knew her_? Vane was doing it right now. “How long are you here for?”  

“A bit, anyways. Expect to see me around here.” She was coming back! Multiple times!  

“Of course! Ah, this coffee will be on us.”  

“Really, Lancelot? Expecting me to take unnecessary handouts? What kind of state do you think I’m in?”  

“Oh please. Just accept the gift, Percival.”  

“No way. Let me pay for it.”  

“I see you’re as stubborn as ever.” 

“Oh? And you’re one to talk?” 

Vane watched, wordlessly, as the exchange went on and on. 

 

* * *

 

He quickly realized she came on Tuesdays, and Tuesdays only—which only made it more surprising when she came in on Thursday with someone else in tow. Someone...Tall and imposing and handsome. Was this...? 

The ringing of the bell broke Vane out of his thoughts.  

“This is the place?” The voice was as icy as the breeze it let in. “How...quaint.”  

“Please, it’s convenient,” Percival added from beside him. 

“Well, if it’s earned such glowing praise from you, it must be something spectacular.” 

If she gave off regal impressions—well, he was almost overwhelming in his presence. The two of them looked something else, next to each other, golds and whites in all their splendor. Except for one thing—his outfit was the icy blue to her rose-red.  

All things considered, it was quite the effective contrast.  

“I usually stop by the Primarch’s place instead, to be honest. Have you been there yet?” The man asked.  

“I heard they were under new management?”  

“They were, but the formula’s the same.”  _And_ he went to their competitor as well! Great, just great.  

“What can I get for you today?” Vane asked, tossing all his immediate questions aside.  

“A tall black, please,” what—was she trying to  _impress_ him? The thought made him— 

“Just a blonde roast, please,” the man added. 

“Coming right up. That’ll be three eighty-five for the plain black, and four-fifteen for the roast.” The man wordlessly handed over his credit card. So they  _were_ paying together. 

Black diamond status member. Ah. “Right, I’ll have that out in a second for you.”  She gave him an (entirely undeserved) look, an odd glance behind the man’s back. Truthfully, the meaning was completely lost on him.  

It was likely the most difficult, yet simplest black coffee he’d ever made. 

 

* * *

 

“A regular already, Percival?” The man asked. 

“What gave you that impression?” 

He simply pointed to the name Vane had written on the side of her cup. “He didn’t ask.” Well. Would you look at that, he just  _had_  to be observant too.  

“Yeah, I suppose I come here regularly,” as if embarrassed to let him know that she visited the place! Wait, was she embarrassed? Was their place embarrassing? “I mean, the coffee’s good.”  

“Hmm.” What, did he not agree? Their coffee was phenomenal! 

What, like he was gonna come in and say their coffee was sub-par? They’d won the Gourmet Guild’s recommendation twice already; which was really saying something considering how many restaurants and bistros Feendrache had, including— 

A faint tapping on his shoulder. “Vane, could you help me grab this from the freezer?” Lancelot asked.  

“Huh? Yeah, sure, what do you need?”  

“Come back with me, I’ll show you.” As soon as they turned the corner, Lancelot pulled him aside. “Vane. You’re staring. Just—wait here, I’ll tell you when they’re gone.” 

 

* * *

 

“What am I supposed to do, Lancey?” Vane groaned. “They even paid together!”  

“At least you know she likes blondes,” Lancelot added unhelpfully. 

“That doesn’t help!”  

“Ahahaha--I’m just poking fun at you, Vane. Did you ever ask who the man was?” 

“No. Wouldn’t that be awkward? I mean, we’re not even friends....” Acquaintances at best, really. It would totally be awkward.   

“Next time she comes in, you should ask.” 

“That’s kinda creepy, isn’t it?” 

“Not at all. In fact, you should probably know who that is.”  

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Nothing, Vane! Just ask her,” Lancelot gave him one of those pitying pats on the back that did absolutely nothing to resolve his tension.  

“You’re not inspiring much faith, Lancey,” 

“Please, when have I been wrong before?” 

“That time when you said Isabella was a great addition to the team.” 

“Besides that,” Lancelot waved him off quickly. “Trust me. Just ask her next time. Besides, what have you got to lose?”  

“My dignity?” 

Thinking back on it, he should’ve been offended at how quickly Lancelot waved that off as well. 

 

* * *

 

“Gingerbread, please,”  

“Morning, Percival! Coming right up.”  And before he could stop himself from asking— “By the way, who was the man you were with last time?” 

“What, Aglovale?” There was a sense of pure and honest bewilderment on her face. That was new. And not a good sign. “You don’t know who Aglovale is?”  

“...Should I?” Lancey had completely set him up, hasn’t he?  

“Of course!” Oh no. “He’s the king of Wales!”  

_The WHAT._  

“You know the king of Wales?!” He blurted out. 

“Do I  _know him_?! He’s my BROTHER!”  

Oh.  

_Ohhh._   

Lancelot had  _totally_  set him up. 

“Y’know, that makes a lot of sense,” Vane muttered. But that would make Percival... “You’re a  _princess?”_  

“Not so loud!”  Embarrassed was a good look on her—with her cheeks flushed and her brow furrowed, it struck a somehow endearing look. Terrifying, yet endearing. It seems he was always bearing the brunt of her anger, somehow.  

Literal royalty. If she wasn’t out of his league before, now she definitely, definitely was. Just astronomically out of his reach.  

“Right, sorry!” Great, now they were both embarrassed. “Um, the gingerbread, right?”  

“Yeah, whatever, just get me a drink,” she said, shoving her credit card in his general direction. 

Fantastic. He'd managed to fuck it up even more. Somehow.  

 

* * *

 

“Lancey, she’s royalty!” 

“Good morning to you too, Vane,” he replied as he placed the tray of pastries on the counter. “What, you didn’t know?”  

“You could have  _told me!”_  

“I thought it was fairly common knowledge. I mean, her last name  _is_ Wales.”  

“Well  _I_ didn’t know that!” Lancelot had the goodwill not to call his outburst dramatic.  

“She mentioned her vassals, too.” 

“I don’t know what those are!”  

“Don’t worry about it, Percival’s pretty approachable when you get to know her.”  

“Easy for you to say! You already know her!”  

“Listen,” Lancelot placed a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly. “Percival acts tough, but she’s not so bad. If you want to get to know her,” adding “ _and you clearly do_ ” in an aside, “Just tell her.” 

“She’ll kill me.” 

“No she won’t.” 

“She already looks like she’s gonna kill me.”  

“Looks can be deceiving. You know, like, um, like Isabella looking twenty-something when she's really like fifty?” he faltered just a fraction at her name. “Anyways, just ask her out sometime. It doesn’t have to be a date immediately, you know. You can just ask to hang out.”  

“What’s casual enough to not obviously be a date?”  

“Coffee, of course.”  

“Isn’t that sort of cheesy?” 

“Not at all! She comes here anyways, right? You know she likes getting coffee already, so there’s no issue.”  

“Right....Yeah, you’re right, Lancey! That’s a great suggestion,” It was perhaps the second-worst suggestion Lancelot had ever given him.   "I’ll ask her to get coffee sometimes, thanks!”  

 

* * *

 

Vane straightened his posture and took a deep breath. 

“Hey, you wanna get a cup of coffee?” He asked before she could even order. 

“Are you advertising your café?  _Here?_ _”_ Yeah, in hindsight, that wasn’t the best way to word it. “I am already  _at your café_.  _Getting a cup of coffee_.”In fact, that was probably the worst possible way to word it right then. Fuck. 

“No, I mean uh—actually, nevermind,” yeah. That was bad.  

“I’ll be in on next Tuesday too,” she said simply. “And I won’t bring Aglovale again, if it bothers you so much.”  

“No, no, Aglovale’s fine! I mean, he’s king, right? We can’t deny a king.”  

“He’s not your king,” she added. Oh. Right. Yeah, that was true.  

“I mean uh, metaphorically.”  

“Right. Metaphorically.” This was going fantastic. Why did he have to embarrass himself in front of her every time? Literally every time? “And what sort of metaphor would tha-”  

“Anyways! The uh, gingerbread?” 

“I was thinking white mocha today.”  

Red might’ve been a good color on her, but it was absolutely terrible on him—which was a shame, because Vane was sure his face was just as bright as her hair right now. He took the chance to stick his face firmly over the milk steamer for longer than absolutely necessary.  

“Uh, here you go, Percy!”  

“Thanks.” Pausing at the frame of the door, she turned back for just a second. “Wait, did you...? Actually, I’ll just ask later. See you.”  

“Yeah, uh, you too!” Great. And what did she mean by that? 

 

* * *

 

It was past dark when he closed up the store.  

Lancelot had gone ahead of him, so all that remained was fumbling the frosty key between his icy fingers as he shut the door, wishing for the twentieth time that he remembered to buy gloves, before— 

“You, boy,” the voice called from behind him.  

“Boy? Who’s calling me—” he turned only to face—“Percival?” At the glare in her eyes, he had the knee-jerk reaction to apologize—without even recalling his mistake. That seemed to be a common theme with her, he realized.  

“Your invitation earlier was pathetic.” She looked amazing, as always—with her cheeks reddened by frost, and the tips of her hair peeking out around the edges of her scarf.  

“I know, I—did you come all the way here just to tell me that?”  

“Go out for dinner with me.” 

“Cause you didn’t have to rub it in—what?”  

“You heard me,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and scuffing the dirt with one shoe. “Your proposal was terrible. So. I’m showing you how it’s done.” Hers wasn’t much better, honestly—not with the way she glared, almost defiantly, as if she was delivering a threat rather than a proposal.  

“I….” Wow. To say he was speechless was understating it—rather, he was completely and utterly— 

“Don't just stand there, answer me-” 

“Yes! I’d love to, Percy!”  

“‘ _Percy?’”_ her voice hitched at the last syllable. Right, that wasn’t the most dignified thing to call a princess, huh? But if he was gonna push his luck anyways, then— 

“It’s cute, like you!”  

“Stop that! Don’t make me regret inviting you!” But the blush was back, full tilt. “Asking me for a cup of coffee when you work in a café was a dumb idea. You’re lucky I realized what you meant afterwards.” 

Yes, yes, he was. Very, very, lucky indeed. 

“The luckiest man in the world,” he said, and laughed.  

 

 

 


End file.
